Real
by spicehnoodles
Summary: The Doctor finally, properly meets Oswin Oswald. — post "The Name of the Doctor"


Ever since the events at Trenzalore, Clara has been under 24/7 surveillance by the Doctor. He fusses about every single thing such as the clothing she wears — "Clara, your skirt has to be _at least _an inch above your ankle, nothing more! Don't you have any trousers in your possession? And put on a sweater for goodness sakes!" — the food she eats — "You may be tiny, dear Clara, but I have carried you before. You don't exactly … _fit _your height. Ah, ah, ah! Don't eat all the Jammie Dodgers!" — and the places she sleeps — "I _know _this isn't your room, but the TARDIS built this room _especially_ for you. You should be thankful towards her! Pillowed walls, pillowed floor, pillowed everything! Pillows are cool!" to which Clara replied, "I suppose a strait jacket comes with it?"

He couldn't help it, though. He managed to save the _true _Clara as opposed to her echoes that died saving him thousands — _millions? _— of times. It was the least he could do, and he would make _sure _this one would stay alive.

Lately, Clara has been having headaches. He has been scanning her brain all the time, but nothing viral or helpful is popping up.

"It's like … something is desperately trying to come out," she had once explained to him.

_Perhaps her human brain cannot contain the millions of memories she acquired from entering my time stream_, the Doctor ponders while attempting to fix the thermal couplings and prevent them from falling, an incident he doesn't wish to repeat nor recall.

"No, she's strong," he mutters. "She's strong. She's no ordinary girl. She's impossible. My impossible Clara." His tone screams confidence towards his selfless companion.

"Doctor."

Ah. There she is.

"Yes, Clara?" he calls from underneath the TARDIS's glass floor. She has a light blanket over her romper and leggings, which she was forced by the Doctor to wear ("Clara! Think of how cold and exposed your legs are!"). "Is it your head again?"

"No, Doctor, I need — ," she begins speaking.

"Oh, what do you need?" He bites his knuckles once he almost drops the thermal coupling he is currently holding. "Let me just set you down — oh wait, no! I can't set you — or maybe just for a min — "

"Doctor, there's — "

"Hang on just a minute, Clara! Don't move a single muscle! You are fragile. Do you need another blanket? I could've sworn I had the TARDIS set for — why won't you untangle?!" Currently, the Doctor is trying to escape from the wires tangled around his wrist.

"Doctor!" Clara exclaims, impatient.

He snaps his head up. "What? What is it, then?"

"I found out the source of my headaches," she explains. She has a smile. It's a nice change from the occasional grimace she has from time to time caused by her sensitive body and the pain from her headaches.

"Oh." The wires magically untangle from his wrist. He claps his hands together once. "Oh! That's great!"

He bounds up the stairs until he's a foot away from her. "And what would that be?" he inquires, beaming with curiosity. He can't lie — he couldn't figure out just what the hell is causing her headaches. Knowing is fun. Knowing is cool.

Clara's grin widens. "Me," she answers simply.

"You?"

She nods. "Yes."

"_You're_ causing your headaches, Clara?" _Pause. _"Did you become a masochist ever since — ?"

"_No_, Doctor. _I _needed to come out. Remember that day I said that it's like something needs to come out? Well, I succumbed to the pain — "

_Succumbed to the pain? _He doesn't like the sound of that. "Clara … ," he says concernedly.

"Let me finish," she says, surprisingly patient and _why the hell does she look as if she discovered something … magnificent_? "It was one of my memories, my echoes. _Me. _One me you have never properly met."

So, in a _way_, he is right about her memories trying to come out.

The one Clara he has never properly met … That means —

From behind his Clara, another Clara — longer hair that's curled at the ends, a red short dress with a holster around her waist containing equipment — steps to the side. She shares a smile identical to —

_Well, _of course_ it's identical. They're both Clara_, he thinks, almost rolling his eyes to himself. _Which _one_, though? Which echo from which regeneration of his? _

"Oswin Oswald, Junior Entertainment Manager, starship _Alaska_," Clara — _Oswin _— introduces with pride.

"Soufflé Girl," the Doctor says in disbelief. _It's her! It's — It's Soufflé Girl! _The girl who saved him at the asylum!

"Nice to see you again, Chin Boy." Her warm, brown eyes penetrate through his ancient greens. It's really, really her.

The original Clara nods to the both of them. "I'll give you both some privacy," she announces before departing.

"Make sure you rest up! Don't go wandering about again!" the Doctor reminds her automatically. His eyes never stray from Oswin, though.

"No promises!" his Clara replies rebelliously.

He then breaks his gaze and scowls in the direction she left.

"So," Oswin starts, "how do I look?" She places her hands on her hips.

Hearing that, the Doctor returns his awed gaze. "Impossible," he says as though it's a reflex.

She lets out a short laugh at that. "What kind of a compliment is that, Doctor? Or was it a compliment?" She sighs, letting out a fake disappointed look. "After saving you from all those Daleks, I expected more."

"It was a compliment, Cl — Oswin," the Doctor assures her. He knows she's playing around much like she did while she helped him and his former companions at the asylum, but once she uttered that last statement, he had to assure her.

Her gaze softens. "I know."

The Doctor couldn't help it. He cups her cheek and stroked it gently. She's here. She's in front of him. "How are you — you're not possible. You're a Dalek," he says in a low, low tone, appraising her entire form as if he wants to memorize every single bit.

"Well, I wouldn't want you freaking out if I appeared as a Dalek, so I came as my true form. Just as I said earlier, I needed to come out. So, hello, Doctor."

The Doctor let out a weak smile. "Hello. It's nice to finally meet you, Oswin." Oh, Clara.

"Missed me?"

He chuckles — "Lots" — and kisses her forehead.

"Oooh, Doctor. Only just a few minutes of physically meeting you and you're already so touchy. Down, down, boy." She looks at him flirtatiously.

Quickly, he places his hands on her shoulders and pushes her away. Gently, though.

"Shut up!" he says crossly.

Instead of giggling or crossing him even more, Oswin smiles so softly, so beautifully at him. "I have to go now."

Instinctively, he steps closer to her, grasping her shoulders tightly. "Why? You can't just — "

"Think of it as tying loose ends. Just like a ghost that can't properly settle — even though I don't believe in ghosts. I came back for what I needed. I _needed _to show you my human self, my real self." She hesitates, a glimpse of vulnerability appearing in her brown eyes. "I wouldn't want you remembering me as a Dalek."

"Oh, Soufflé Girl," he murmurs. He leans down and rests his forehead against hers. "I remember you as the girl who baked soufflés, as the girl who was strong enough to show that she was a human, as the girl who saved my life." _As my Impossible Girl._

He knows he only has minutes, seconds left, but he has to make the most of it.

And so he asks, "Are you real? Are you actually, properly real?"

"Current status: actually, properly real," she replies without a beat. Is it just him or are their smiles widening bit by bit, at the same time?

Then, she begins fading. She is almost translucent, but she's still there. She's always there.

"Thank you … for saving me," he whispers, desperately trying to hold onto what he can still grasp and feel and see.

"Thank you for remembering, Chin Boy, and for showing me the stars."

And then she fades.

But not from his memories, never from his memories.

* * *

_— ouch, my heart._


End file.
